


Lost

by StrykingShadows



Category: Gravity Falls, Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Dipper has anxiety, Will add tags as I go, but it might get that way, dipper and mabel are normal kids, doesn't stick entirely to ib cannon, ford is an artist, gotta have my own twist after all, hahah sorry, i don't think so, let me know if the horror's too much?, not an adventurer, then again this fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrykingShadows/pseuds/StrykingShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper was ecstatic to drag his family along to go see the new Pines art exhibit at the small art gallery for his birthday. He wasn't, however, prepared to be separated and thrown into an entirely other, much more morbid gallery. Nor was he prepared to have a hyperactive blond teenager tag along with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know my choice of putting people into what roles don't make sense. Just hold on. It will. I promise.

“Bwap!”

Soft hands clamped down over Dipper's cheeks, startling him from the art book he had buried his nose into. His gaze snapped up to meet one identical to his own, paired with a large, silly grin. He couldn't help but match his sister's beaming smile.

“Mabel!” His twin giggled, squirming around in her seat. “What was that for?”

Mabel merely grinned. “What? I can't help what I do when I'm excited, bro-bro! Are youuuu excited?” 

She bopped Dipper on the nose, who laughed and batted her hand away. He nodded and raised his book to empasize his agreement. “You know I am! I can't wait to see what exhibits they have! I've been following this guy's work for ages!”

“Dipper, he hasn't made anything new in over thirty years,” Mabel laughed. She grimanced internally as Dipper's eyes lit up with nerd conspiracy sparkle. He grabbed her arm in his excitement.

“That's the thing, Mabel!” Dipper bounced excitedly, the spine of his paperback book bending under the pressure of his grip. “He's been missing for all these years! He was just suddenly _gone,_ leaving nothing except his artwork behind! Maybe we could find some clue as to what happened while we're here! He was really into the occult and such, so maybe something went wrong and he painted some sigil wrong or someth- mmph!”

A burrito was stuffed into his mouth. Mabel grinned at him, clutching her own burrito in the hand  _not_ mashed to his face. “Sorry, bro-bro, but you were nerding off again. I had to save you before your brain turned to mush!”

Dipper rolled his eyes fondly, swallowing the bite of burrito he had stuffed down his throat. “Thanks, sis.”

_ Ugh.  _ He shuddered as the taste hit him.  _ Leftovers. _

“No problem, Dip Dop.” Her eyes trailed down to the book in Dipper's hands. The cover depicted one of the most famous paintings ever created by the artist, who only ever signed his last name. Mabel frowed in thought. “Huh. Kinda funny that the artist has the same last name as us, yeah?”

“Probably a coincidence,” Dipper shrugged. “Pines is a fairly common last name.”

“I guess so...”

“Alright, alright, you two. Listen up! We havea very special mission today,” their Grunkle Stan grumbled from the driver's seat. His knuckles were white from the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. “We're here to figure out what kids these days like so we can get them to the Shack and rip them off! Also, because Dipper is a nerd that wanted nerd things done on his birthday.”

The twins shared a look.

“Grunkle Stan,” Mabel began, “the last time you tried to be 'hip'...”

“...It didn't end so well,” Dipper finished nervously, images of that horrid hot air balloon flashing in front of his mind's eye. He shuddered in fear of the memory.

“Alright, so _one_ attempt didn't work out,” Stan mumbled. “Whatever we glean from here is sure to be useful! Wendy said that tons of kids with money hang out at these places!”

“Maybe if they're Pacifica Northwest,” Mabel chirpped. Dipper knew she was just happy to be able to go into town, even if it was simply to the small Gravity Falls art gallery. He also knew that Wendy would say anything if it got Stan out of the shop so he wouldn't yell at her for reading the tabloids while at the register.

Stan growled at the mention of the Northwest name. Dipper tucked his art book into the back pocket of the seat in front of him as Stan pulled into the parking lot. The twins cheered and hopped out of the vehicle, each secretly relieved to have made it to the gallery in one piece. As used as one may get to Stan's driving, that feeling never quite goes away. Stan climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut. Each twin took a side, following their Grunkle into the gallery.

“You kids know where your presents are?” Stan asked. Mabel beamed up at him, even as Dipper readjusted the hat on his head. “You don't want to lose them.”

“I left my glitter yarn at home,” Mabel explained. “Because _everyone_ would leap at a chance to steal that!”

Stan chuckled, ruffling Mabel's hair. “Of course they would, sweetheart. Dipper? You got your hat?”

Again, Dipper shifted his baseball cap around on his head, flattening his bangs futher over his birthmark. “Sure do, Grunkle Stan.”

“Good,” Stan grunted, even as he smothered a smile. “Don't lose it. It cost me a lot of money.”

“You dug it out of the gift shop, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper rolled his eyes, jogging ahead a couple steps to open the door for his sister and grunkle. He recieved a mock glare for his efforts as Stan took the door from Dipper. He slipped inside, eyes darting around excitedly as he attempts to drink in the artwork. He frowns when, of course, all the artwork is exhibited beyond the archways of other rooms and a second floor.

“That was fifteen dollars I could have sold, boy.”

The three marched up to the information desk. Dipper glanced through a pamphlet as Stan engaged in debate with the cashier about senior citizen's and kid's discount. Mabel tugged on Stan's sleeve.

“Grunkle Stan, can we go on ahead?”

“Sure, kiddo.” Stan waved them on, despite the protesting cashier. “Don't break any priceless artifacts, and if you do, don't get caught. And, uh, whatever else responsible adults tell kids.”

The Pines twins grinned at each other and ran further into the lobby. They paused for a second, looking at the different routes. Dipper glanced up the stairs. Mabel pointed to the room in front of them. In unison, the two chimed, “Let's go this way!”

“...” Dipper grinned as Mabel huffed. “How about I go check out the upstairs and you see what's down here? Then, when we meet up here again, we can tell each other what's worth seeing and what's not.”

“Oh!” Mabel bounced around, beaming. “That's so smart, Dipper! I guess that nerd stuff pays off sometimes!”

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, an embarrased grin curling on his face. “Haha... yeah. I guess so.”

He turned to leave, but Mabel snatched his arm. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. Mabel grinned and released him in exchange for holding out her arms. “Before we split... awkward sibling hug?”

Dipper smiled, wrapping his sister in his arms. “Awkward sibling hug.”

They hugged for about two seconds before Mabel became too antsy to stand there any longer. She jerked away and bounded away a few steps.

“Okay! Let's go!” She smirked. “I saw the gift shop here had some Smile Dip knock off! I'm gonna go find out if it's the same as _real_ Smile Dip!”

Dipper paled and bid her a hasty adieu, darting up the stairs before Mabel could somehow rope him into her Smile Dip kock-off shenanigans. He cautiously peeked around the corner, intimidation squelching up through the cracks of his excitement.

_That's a lot of adults... but the art's just so..._ Dipper took a deep breath and straightened up, squaring his shoulders.  _I am not letting anxiety ruin this for me!_

He stuck his hands in his pockets, fingers curling into fists in his efforts to contain his excitement. Strolling from one painting to another, his chewed on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin. The artwork ranged from painted depictions of fairies- though much darker than your run of the mill greeting card fae- to moldings of the grotesque deformity of the banshee. None if it was light and fluffy like in Wizney's cartoons. It was dark and forboding, as if warning everyone to keep an eye on the shadows and watch their backs.

Dipper loved it. It ignited the boy's thirst to learn, to figure out the world, to find out where Pines recieved his inspiration for his artwork. He stepped up to a painting of a wyvern, scanning over the way the oils blended together in such a way to make the dark skin of the wyvern blend in with the darkness around it.

Someone at the painting next to the one Dipper was at laughed quietly. The slight hysteria in the giggles set the boy on edge. He glanced over to see what was so funny. A young, blond man was studying a painting of a white stag that was strung up over a tree. It seemed to be bleating helplessly, twisting around to free itself. Dipper glanced at the man, struggling to find the humor in the painting.

The man himself was more of an older teen, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His browned skin rippled when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A wide grin stretched across his face as he stared at the painting with undisguised delight. His flaxen hair draped over one eye. The other gleamed bright gold. Thin locks of black hair curled lightly over the blond strands. And he was dressed to the nines. Who wears a suit- much less a  _gold_ suit- in Gravity Falls? H e set Dipper's nerves on edge.

Dipper jumped as that grin and golden eye slid over to him. His gaze snapped away and he tugged his cap down to hide his embarrassed blush.

“S-sorry,” he stammared, turning on his heel and marching away. Dipper barely glanced at the artwork as he passed, too busy fighiting off self-condemnation and anxiety. He jogged down to the other end of the room and slipped into the next, which was surprisingly empty. The only exhibit was a large, wall-to-wall painting. Dipper slid down against the blank wall opposite the mural, lacing his fingers together over his hat as he curled up to rest his head against his knees. The boy drank in deep gulps of air, attempting to ward off the beginnings of a panic attack.

_ In... Out... In... Out... _

After a few minutes, he was able to look up and uncurl, although his hands still shook. Dipper shakily stood up, leaning lightly against the wall. He readjusted his hat, the cardboard of the brim serving to help ground him. Slowly, he pushed off the wall and approached the mural.

The colors were dark , with a few splashes of colors contrasting against the shadows. It almost looked as if it depicted a whole other world. Dipper peered at the plaque beneath the painting.

“Nightmare Realm... Seems fitting...” He stepped back, gazing at the painting once again. It gave him that same feeling that man did... unsettling, as if they don't belong to this world.

Dipper's jerked from his musings as the lights flicker.

“Nononono...” He jerks into motion, determined to find Mabel before the lights-

They cut out completely.

“Oh no...”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hit Dipper how absolutely alone he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean this chapter seems stiff and rigid? I don't know what you're talking about. :p
> 
> Seriously though I can't wait until our Garry figure enters so Dipper here has someone to react to and with. I struggle with solo chapters. Anyway, he'll probably get here after the next chapter, I'm thinking.

“Mabel? Grunkle Stan?!”

Dipper's footsteps echoed through the hallways as he ran, panting harshly. The power was out, he was scared, and everyone in the gallery was _gone_. No matter what room he looked into, he received the same basic result- utter emptiness. His search carried him through all the rooms upstairs and downstairs, then back upstairs because how could everyone just _vanish,_ surely he just _missed_ everyone? But the doors were locked, and though the handles turned as if they weren't, the divide between the entrance's double doors was nonexistent, even though he could see it as clear as day. His fingers simply glided over the area, as if it were a photograph, or another of the paintings that surrounded the boy.

He was locked away from everything familiar to him, and he had a sickening feeling in his stomach that this wasn't some kind of surprise party from his twin. Dipper couldn't stand it. He was hardly ever alone, despite his natural introverted tendencies. Mabel was always by his side, especially whenever something stressful was going on.

This was rather stressful.

And he was alone for it.

“ _Mabel!”_

He returned to the room with the mural, where it all started, and once more slid down against the blank wall. Dipper's heart was lodged into his throat, pounding against his chest painfully. He inhaled sharply, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen, but it seemed as if a rod or a stone or _something_ was stuck in his throat, preventing the air from getting all the way through. He grasped the fabric of his shirt over his heart tightly, shaking. His thoughts were caught up in a whirlwind and he struggled to latch onto one and he did but it was just another idea of being left completely and utterly _alone_ he was all alone Mabel wasn't there Grunkle Stan wasn't there _everyone in the gallery had abandoned him and it was dark and spooky and he wanted to go home!_

Dipper slumped against the ground, sobbing.

He wasn't sure how long he had been rendered incapacitated by his panic attack, but when he finally regained his senses, his eyes were crusty from his tears and his face felt swollen. Dipper stood once more, wiping at his face. He forced an optimistic smile to his face, despite the steady crumbling feeling in his chest.

He chuckled quietly, his voice thick. “Gr-Grunkle Stan w-would laugh if he saw me here like this...”

The sound of dripping liquid caught his attention. He looked up, startled by the yellow paint leaking out from beneath the _Nightmare Realm_ painting. Cautiously, he tiptoed up to the paint, reaching out a trembling hand to support himself against the wall as he bent to study the thick, bright glob. As soon as his hand touched the wall, however, the sounds of a typewriter or _something_ snapping away echoed sharply through the air. Dipper whirled around, a horrified scream lodging in his throat as bold, blue letters stamped their way onto the polished ground of the art gallery.

**C O M E D I P P E R**

"Nonono, I-I.. no." Shaking and trying to completely dismiss the sight of letters appearing out of thin air, he turned back to study the paint on the wall, recalling from mystery novels like Dancy Shrew and Not-Always-So-Sherlock that one always double checks any clues found. Dipper paled further when he noticed tiny words etched into the paint.

_Come on, Pine Tree! I want to show you a world of fun!_

“Because that isn't creepy at all,” Dipper breathed, struggling to not fall into another panic attack. He was having a hard time understanding what all was going on, but he was slowly adjusting to his new surroundings. As long as he didn't think too hard on it, he was fine. “I don't think I'm in Gravity Falls anymore, Toto...”

The next few minutes were spent leaning against the wall, breathing deeply and thinking through the situation. With a clearer mind, Dipper once more exited the room, this time to the right in an effort to examine the rooms he had run through so hastily earlier.

“ _Mrow!”_

Dipper screamed and jumped away from the source of the sound, twisting to see it. A simple painting of a Sphinx head hung on the wall, leering at him unblinkingly. Dipper scowled, annoyed with his own thoughts.

“Of course it's not blinking, dummy. It's a _painting_.”

Then again, paint could talk, so what even was life as he knew it at that point?

He noticed other strange things too, as he trekked carefully through the darkened gallery. An artistically organized shelf of weapons would drop a blade covered in sigils, or a bone would clatter to the ground out of a painting depicting walking skeletons. When he approached a painting of a burnt offering, he could feel the heat of the flames. His brain adamantly rejected hearing the screams of the victim, however.

And, despite knowing he was completely alone in the gallery, little things begged him to reconsider the thought. Dipper would swear that footsteps were following him no matter what room he was in, with a constant _tap... tap..._ ringing in his ears. A shadow raced passed a window near the stairs to the first floor when he walked by. He moved to inspect it, frowning when all he could see was a thick blanket of fog through the glass. Shrugging, he dismissed the thought, chalking it up to paranoia. Still, he was tense as he turned away from the window.

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

Dipper whirled around, heart pounding in his chest.

A dark handprint was pressed clearly in the center of the window.

He stared, scrambled for something to distract himself from the paranoia building in his stomach, settled on shuddering and moving on. He took the stairs two at a time, desperate to get away from the invisible presence that left such a firm imprint on the window. Dipper clutched the railing of the stairs to ground himself, reassuring himself that reality is _not_ an illusion, this was actually happening, _he was perfectly sane._

“Right?”

His question followed him as he quickly scanned the empty lobby, not daring to approach another window. Dipper could see the fog beyond the glass from where he stood. He tiptoed into the next room, where a large exhibit had been laid out on the floor.

It was a mostly 2D painting, but had little bits of molding rising from the canvas in places to give it a more sculpted look. They formed frothing waves and angry currents- Dipper would swear up and down that for a split second, the waters were actually churning. If he squinted through the darkness, he was able to see the distorted shadow of what was probably the Kraken, or the Lochness Monster, or some other such creature. Maybe, if the gentle whisper of his name in his ear was any indication, it was a siren in the painting, trying to lure him in to his doom. But it wasn't the vague shadow of the monster that disturbed him.

_Dipper..._

The exhibit was roped off by velvet guards, warning any onlookers to appreciate the art from a distance. A section was missing between to of the posts, however. And where the guard should have been were instead footprints leading down into the vicious waters. Perhaps there had been some other fool down in the gallery with Dipper, and he had been caught by the siren.

_C'mon, Dipper..._

In a daze, the boy followed the rope to the opening in the guard. His feet dragged against the ground as they led him to his destination and his hand was lightly trailing along the rope to keep himself steady. He stepped up to the empty section, his smaller feet covering the red footprints on the ground. Vaguely, he registered that it looked like paint more than anything else.

_Almost there, Dipper..._

The voice was soothing, sounding kind of like Grunkle Stan's whenever he or Mabel would get sick or come in crying from a bad day at school. It was solemn and spoke of protection. He could trust this voice. Dipper leaned forward, thoughts only barely registering, and allowed gravity to pull his body forward into the thrashing waters. Liquid surged over his head, inciting a brief flash of panic before a newer, higher voice was coaching him into a state of calm as he sank. The new voice was more jovial and warm, promising fun and exhilaration in life. Dipper instantly wanted to trust it.

_**You don't need to be awake for this bit, Pine Tree. After all, downing's painful! Which, after so long, isn't so hilarious anymore. Let me help you out.** _

Dipper wanted to allow himself to give in to the gentle tug on his mind telling him to just close his eyes and give up, allow sleep to take him. Yet something in him was screaming that sleeping was _not a good idea when one is sinking in a painting wake up and try to fight for your life._

_**Stop fighting. I've got you, Pine Tree, I promise. Trust me.** _

He really wanted to. So he did.

Dipper closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink in both mind and body.

 


End file.
